Broken Wings, Broken Heart
by Moore12
Summary: It's only after Diaval's wings are broken that Maleficent realizes he's so much more than her wings. (AU)


The dust has settled, the smoke cleared. The beastie is safe. Stefan is dead. And, improbably, Maleficent has regained her wings. For 18 long, bitter years, she didn't believe in true love or happy endings. Now, she sees how very wrong she was.

"Fairy Godmother!" Aurora's frightened cry jolts Maleficent from her happy reflections, and she turns to see the beastie crouched in front of the great black dragon she transformed Diaval into in an act of desperation. "Diaval is hurt!"

As Maleficent half-runs, half-staggers over to where Diaval lies in the corner of the throne room, she notices for the first time the stone floor is slick with a black substance that can only be one thing. When she sinks down beside him, he cracks open one eye, gives a small huff that makes flames flicker at the edges of his mouth. In response, she rests a gentle hand on his snout. "You served me well today, Diaval. You have repaid your life debt in full."

Diaval lets out a low rumble, his eye falling shut again. Maleficent doubts that he understands she released him from her service with those words. Through the years, she has imbued him with so much of her magic, she can feel his agony at her very core. All for her, he's been pierced by spears and arrows, his heavy scales protecting him from some, but not all, of the onslaught he endured. And she knows, without needing to fully examine them, that his wings are broken. They're tangled in the chandelier, bent and twisted unnaturally, and she wishes she was strong enough to heal them.

"Please, you must help him!" Aurora begs, her tears making her blue eyes shimmer in the firelight. Yes, the beastie will make a great queen, better than Maleficent could hope to be. She has a good heart and love for all creatures, no matter how small. "Please, surely you can heal him."

Normally, Maleficent can feel her magic coursing through her, as powerful as the river that runs through the moors. Now, it's nothing more than the flicker of a dying oil lamp. The iron has sapped so much of her strength, and Diaval's wounds are too many and too great. "Would that I could, beastie," she breaths as she calls on the last of her energy to summon the last of her magic. "Would that I could."

Maleficent lifts her hand and the gold mist rises. The great black dragon with broken wings collapses into a small black raven with broken wings. With a surprised squawk, Diaval tries to lift off, beating his useless wings in vain. Naturally, Aurora catches him; then, heedless to the blood that will stain her dress, she cradles him against her chest. "Oh, pretty bird," she murmurs into his ruffled feathers, "our poor pretty bird."

Their poor pretty bird indeed. As she watches Aurora stroke Diaval's feathers, smoothing them the best she could, Maleficent is overcome by an emotion she only just realized was real. Just as she couldn't bear to lose the beastie, she can't bear to lose Diaval. He's so much more than her wings. He's her protector, her conscience, her confidante. The raven she saved from the farmer's net for selfish reasons has become, against all odds, the only man she would trust with her life. She needs him, not just his wings. And, without him, she won't have a happy ending.

What happens next is a blur. Guards flood the throne room, brandishing spears and swords, but Aurora pushes Diaval into Maleficent's arms and puts herself between them. She declares that her father is dead and that she is now their queen. She orders that they stand down, and they mutely comply, much to Maleficent's relief.

"Your enemy was never in the moors," the beastie concludes, her voice as strong and certain as a queen's should be. "Your enemy was within these walls. I promise you that, under my rule, our kingdom and the moors will both live in peace."

Suddenly, Phillip—useless boy—is there, and Aurora tasks him with helping the guards see to their wounded and put out the last of the fires. Once the throne room clears, Aurora's attention returns to Maleficent and the precious burden in her arms. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks softly, hopefully.

"Yes," Maleficent replies at once, wanting to spare Aurora from what was yet to come. She can feel Diaval's life flickering, not unlike her magic, and fears he hasn't long. "If you would see me to the gate, it's best we return to the moors."

"No." Once again, the beastie surprises Maleficent. Her arms are folded across her chest, her chin jutting out. She is the very picture of defiance, and Maleficent is much too exhausted to argue with her. "You best stay here. You're both in no condition to travel, and I will ensure your safety."

As loath as Maleficent is to admit it, Aurora is right. The moors are far away, and she shouldn't risk jostling Diaval about when she needn't. Before long, she and Diaval are tucked away in a room in the west tower, with the door firmly bolted behind them. On their way to the room, Aurora fetched a basket for Diaval; before she took her leave, the beastie set it on the window ledge so their "poor pretty bird could see the sky."

"Diaval," Maleficent orders as she lays him in the basket, taking care not to jar his broken wings, "you must pull through the night. I shall be strong enough to mend your wounds in the morning. Do you hear me, Diaval?"

Diaval doesn't answer, not that Maleficent expected he would. He's long since lost consciousness, and that's likely for the best. There's nothing she can do for him now, and she doesn't want him to be in pain. If—no, when—he pulls though the night, she will do as she promised. She owes him that, and so much more. So, with a weary sigh, she sinks into the chair beside the window and falls into a deep sleep.

In her dream, she's soaring high above the cloud line, with a raven by her side. Though she has her own wings, she won't fly without him. She can't. But, then, with a horrible squawk that turns to bloodcurdling scream, the raven transforms into the man she's come to, without knowing it, love. He's plummeting out of the sky, faster than she can fly, and she strains to reach him before he hits the ground but…

When Maleficent wakes with a start, the sky outside the window is the dull orange of dawn. For a moment, she doesn't remember where she is or what has happened. The moment everything comes rushing back to her, she's on her feet, bent over the basket on the window ledge.

Diaval is too still. Much too still. And she feels nothing but her own magic; the connection she had with her faithful raven-man has been severed for all time. "Diaval," she whispers, gold mist rising from her fingers, "into a man."

As Maleficent eases Diaval's human body onto the ground, she accepts that there will be no happy ending for the raven and his mistresses. And, with their fingers tightly intertwined, she sobs angry, bitter tears.

If only she had realized true love was real in time. For Diaval was so much more than her wings. He was her heart.

* * *

_I watched Maleficent last night and couldn't get this storyline out of my head. So, of course, I wrote it down. I don't write too much in the way of romance, but I couldn't get past the idea of Maleficent still needing Diaval even after she regained her wings. And then I had to play out what would happen if she lost him before she had the opportunity to tell him that. Even though it's sad, I hope you all enjoyed it!  
_


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